At some stages of a route (and at very frequent stages) you pass a lorry-park, in the vicinity of which you are ordered to reduce the pace. There are whole battalions of lorries laagered and parked--miles of them--lining the main roads, lining the side-roads, lined in the fields; hordes of them radiating from the H.Q. at the main road. They are splashed and streaked and pied with colour, like Jacob's ewes, to baffle aircraft. They resemble, indeed, the streaked cruisers off Anzac. Some columns have other decorations. You'll pass, for instance, a Dickens convoy: the lorries are named from the novels--Sarah Gamp preceding Mr. Pickwick, with Little Nell panting in the rear; Bill Sykes, Scrooge, and the rest of them--with (in rare cases) crude attempts at illustration by portraiture. The fleets of lorries give a sense of efficiency and mobility--even of dignity--as they stand ranked there. Casualty clearing stations are very frequent indeed in these advanced posts. With a curious appearance of contradictoriness, their marquees are streaked and splashed against aircraft, but here and there bear an enormous Red Cross glaring an appeal at the heavens. The language of all this is: "We're hospital, and you know it from these outward and visible signs. But if you're going to be frightful, we'll make it as hard as we can for you to hit." ... Over the road is the burial-ground, significantly full. Mostly these hospitals are on a railway-line. Some are not. From the latter the stream of motor-ambulances is continuous at certain seasons. There are Sisters in these advanced stations; they are little more than dressing stations, and more than seldom they are shelled. It's no joke for women; they do not blench. There have been "honours and rewards" made them for continuing to dress cases when suffering wounds themselves. And who shall describe the strafings suffered by some of the advanced railheads? Shelling of clearing stations may be more or less accidental, but railheads are good game and are shelled very deliberately and very thoroughly. I visited one afternoon a railhead supply depôt that had been shelled from five to nine that morning. The havoc was good ground for self-congratulation by the enemy batteries that caused it. Nine-inch shell for four hours, if well observed by those who deliver it, can do great things. There were shell-holes all over the station yard--lines ripped up, trucks blown to splinters, supply stacks scattered to the fields, petrol dump smouldering, station-house battered. This is horribly disorganising. Only one thing is worse, of that kind: the strafing of a railway junction by bombs. This is obstructive, and isolating almost beyond retrieve. The villages about such stations suffer seriously. They bear the marks about the house walls. Villages adjacent to batteries--apart from railheads--get it even worse. Generally they lie behind a wood which conceals our heavy artillery.